


One of Those Nights

by trespresh



Series: One of Those Nights [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), X Factor RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Handcuffs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, OT5 Relationship, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Rough Sex, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, slight bloodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trespresh/pseuds/trespresh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It only makes sense that, when Niall loses himself in their performances, his bandmates and best friends will help him find his way back after the shows.</p><p>(Or, the one where the boys find out the best way to control Niall is through handcuffs, overstimulation, and just a little push.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing(s): This contains Niall/everyone, with a teensy bit of Larry (if you squint), and Niam is endgame.
> 
> Soundtrack: One of THOSE Nights by The Cab (title belongs to them.)

The first time it happens, it scares the shit out of them, the way sweet little Niall melts away to be replaced by someone—some _thing_ —strung-out, dangerous.

After the blonde bounds off stage, they don’t hear a word from him until three in the morning. Zayn receives the text and climbs out of his bed, tugging a shirt over his head before leaving his flat to knock first on Liam’s door and then on Harry and Louis’.

“Found the leprechaun, I’m going to pick him up,” he explains groggily, to which his bandmates nod their exhausted appreciation before retreating to their own beds.

Really, ‘ _pick him up_ ’ is more literal than Zayn had planned.

After throwing the Irish boy over his shoulder and carrying him from the bar, Zayn buckles him into the passenger seat of his car, careful to make sure the boy doesn’t spill any of his final drink (“An’ one furthuh road!”) on the interior. Right away, Zayn can tell something’s off.

Niall has energy, and not in the normal ‘Louis’-way they’re all used to. It’s unnerving when the kid goes from being in constant motion one second to still as stone the next; when Zayn glances over he can see the tension in Niall’s jaw, one hand fisted around the bottle of alcohol, the other gripping his knee so tightly Zayn worries if he’ll snap a bone.

“Niall?” The older boy asks quietly, frowning when the other’s wide, wild eyes flick over to stare at him. “You alright, mate?”

Niall only stares at him, eyes slightly glassy and giving away no indication that he’d understood or even heard what his friend said. The darker boy glances between the road and his passenger, growing increasingly alarmed when Niall’s unseeing gaze remains unchanged.

Zayn has to wrestle his Irish bandmate out of the car, slinging one of the pale arms across his own shoulders so as to walk him into their building. Niall’s silent the entire way, his body tensed like a bow. The taller boy’s brow furrows; a quiet, drunken Niall isn’t anything he’s ever seen until now.

Something is definitely off.

“Guys,” he calls when, after hauling the unresponsive boy around, he reaches their flats. He bangs a fist against Liam’s door and drags Niall the last few feet toward Louis and Harry’s door, pushing it open and coaxing Niall inside. If something’s wrong, he’s not about to let the blond fall asleep before talking to them first.

It isn’t long before the two tired boys emerge from their rooms, hair tousled with sleep and blinking against the light, and then Liam trudges through the front door as well.

“Something’s up,” Zayn says simply, crouching down before Niall where he sits on the couch. “Niall?”

“He’s a big boy, Zayn, he can handle himself. Come on, get him to b-b- bed,” Louis mutters around a yawn.

Zayn shakes his head, “Nuh-uh, he’s acting weird. Won’t even look at me, see?”

“He’s drunk!” Louis protests, “Of course he’s acting weird.”

But Liam is stepping toward the couch as well, standing to Zayn’s side as he speaks carefully to the Irish boy.

“Nialler, mate.”

Nothing.

He sighs, “Alright then, let’s get you cleaned up. Come on, I’ll take that.” He reaches down to gently take the bottle still clenched in Niall’s hand and turns to go toss it in the garbage.

Just like that, Niall’s a livewire.

“Give that back,” he orders, voice low as he jumps to his feet.

Liam turns to look at him, a small, good-natured smile spreading across his face. “I don’t think so. You’re done for the night.”

“No! No, you can’t tell me when I’m done!” The normally light Irish lilt in his voice is now heavy, slurred with fury and inebriation. He strides across the room to stand right in front of Liam, who, in turn, squares his shoulders.

“Niall, listen to me. _You’ve had enough_.”

Those cool blue eyes blaze, that entire lithe frame tense, coiled, ready to strike. Niall’s upper lip curls as he leans close. “ _Fuck you_.”

The temperature in the room drops a couple degrees as the four sober boys freeze. Niall _never_ swears at Liam.

The other three start to inch closer, ready to grab the seething Irish boy if necessary, but Liam only shakes his head. He holds the burning, intensely focused eyes as he raises his palm and brings it swiftly down onto the blonde’s flushed cheek with a _smack_ that reverberates around the deathly silent room. Niall lets out the softest of moans as he stumbles back a step, clutching his hand to his face and staring hard at the ground. The tension drains so completely and suddenly from his body that the other boys can only watch. Those eyes finally raise to meet Liam’s again, filled with a whole new kind of intensity directed straight at his bandmate.

He steps forward again, his eyes wide with feral curiosity. Bringing his hand down to rest at his side, he pleads breathlessly, “Do…do it again.”

Liam stares from him to his fellow bandmates in shock, his confusion showing as he gapes.

 _It felt…the pressure, the release, oh fucking hell_ —“Please. Liam, _please_. Do it again,” Niall’s gasping, looking utterly desperate as he trip over himself to get closer to his best mate.

Begging. The tension is filling his back again, trailing down his legs and to the tips of his fingers, tickling up his neck until all he can do is let out a dry, deranged sob. _The release, he needs—_

But then he’s being dragged back, spun around to face Harry, shuddering at the tight hold the younger boy had on his upper arms. His eyes glaze over for the briefest moment, willing the grip tighter on his biceps. Just a few bruises, _oh god_ , that was all he wants—he needs—

That same wary confusion that he’d seen in Liam’s eyes trickles into Harry’s as well when Niall lets out a soft gasp.

He needs something. Anything. The tension, the blinding necessary _something_ that’s just beyond his grasp, teasing and making him tremble with the overwhelming craving for a release. He can’t take it. What’s wrong with him? _He can’t take it._

“Nialler?”

He needs—anything, please—

He lunges forward, pressing his lips forcefully against Harry’s and ignoring the other boy’s muffled protests. His spine curves smoothly as he arches into Harry’s body, pressing closer in his desperation until he’s unceremoniously yanked away from the youngest boy, dragged back kicking and spitting, thrashing and screaming.

Louis quickly lets him go after pulling him far enough away, hastening to join the other three in a semi-circle around Niall. The Irish boy stares back at them, his blue eyes lit and darting to each of them, pleading wildly. Frantic. A cornered animal, half tensing to attack, half eager to bow in submission. This isn’t the alcohol, isn’t Niall acting out drunkenly. This is something else entirely.

Manic. He’s fucking _manic_.

“Please,” he pants, “please, I need—“ He cuts himself off with a high whine. His vision is blurring, he can’t see, can’t breathe.

“Niall, what’s _wrong_? What do you need?” He hears one of his friends ask, now unsure of who’d spoken. Louis? Zayn? Harry’s shocked into silence.

“I don’t…I don’t know,” he shakes his head, “Please, help me—let me—”

Then Liam is in front of him, hands on his arms and head ducking down to catch Niall’s unfocused gaze. “What can we do? How can we help?” He speaks softly, soothingly, his cool breath ghosting over Niall’s face.

He closes his eyes, sighing softly.

“Let me—“ Niall begs quietly, and the older boy shushes him.

“Anything, mate, whatever you need—”

The words freeze on Liam’s lips when the blonde abruptly drops from his grasp, down onto the floor in front of him. The kid’s delicate fingers are on his zipper, popping the button insistently, frenzied, and only when he hears the zipper actually being pulled down does Liam snap out of his shock to push the boy’s hands away.

“No, no, no, no. Niall, I— _what_?”

But then Niall’s looking up at him, so lost and confused and strung-out that Liam’s protests catch in his throat. He looks helplessly over his shoulder at the others, who only look just as utterly baffled as he does, and then Niall’s fingers are back to work, reaching into his boxers and Liam jerks.

“Niall, wait—” he stills the boy’s hands again, only this time the blonde doesn’t look up at him. “Are you sure?”

“Please,” the boy repeats softly, “ _please_ …let me.”

Liam lets a defeated sigh escape, shuffling back awkwardly to collapse onto the couch, and Niall stumbles after to fall against his spread legs. Without glancing up to see the deep blush on the older boy’s face, the blonde immediately pulls Liam’s cock free, diving forward to swallow it while his best friends watch in astonishment.

That first time, when Niall loses it, everything is sloppy. They don’t know how to react, how to take care of it. Niall is not okay, he is not himself.

That first time, when, after Liam comes down his best mate’s throat with a strangled groan, Niall folds in on himself against Liam’s legs and jerks himself while chanting, “ _Need to come, need to come, need to come_ , _**please**_ —“

That first time, Niall lifts himself onto the couch, totally drained and sluggish, and curls into Liam’s side like a small child. It’s silent as Zayn drops down on the Irish boy’s other side, draping an arm securely—albeit hesitantly—across his waist, and Harry and Louis place supportive and equally cautious hands on Niall’s shoulders as the boy drifts off.

And that’s how it starts; after every few shows, when it all builds up and Niall lets himself go so totally on stage that he can’t even _think_ straight, his bandmates and best friends carefully take him apart, nurture the little, tiny, broken Niall-pieces, and put him back together, good as new. Until the next time, at least.

They learn.

Sometimes it takes just one of them, sometimes all of them—one right after the other—until the Irish boy will crash, exhausted and wrung out in the best way possible. He can think. He can sleep.

Sometimes though, it isn’t enough. All four of them will give everything they have, would push, yank, jerk, thrust, lick, touch, and sometimes it just isn’t enough and Niall needs _more_. Sometimes that _nnghsoclosejustalittlefurther_ -point will dance just outside the Irish boy’s reach. When that happens, they try again the next day.

In some unspoken agreement, they never tell anyone. They can take care of their boy; they can keep him safe.


	2. Louis and Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hi Harry,” Louis says casually, as if Harry _hasn’t_ just walked in to see one of his best mates naked and handcuffed to the bed, and another of his best mates shirtless and with his fingers deep inside the first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! Louis and Harry's turn ;)

They learn quickly: dominate. Tell Niall what he needs (because the blonde sure as hell doesn’t know) and then give it to him.

Liam’s always the first he goes to, but sometimes another finds him and things just need to be taken care of. Like tonight.

Watching him on stage tonight, the way he puts everything he has and then some into the performance, they all know it’ll be bad. It’s only when Louis happens to spot Niall across the club later, leaning against the bar with a petite blonde standing just a bit too close, that he knows just _how_ bad. As Louis watches, the girl tips her head back, laughing, and Niall has that familiar goofy grin on his face. She curls her hand into the Irish boy’s shirt, pulling him close to whisper something in his ear, and even from across the room Louis can see the wildfire behind his eyes.

Louis knows that if he doesn’t get Niall away from her soon, the Irish boy will be far worse off. She’ll only ruin it. She won’t know what he needs. Oh, she’ll take him apart, sure, but she won’t be able to put him back together afterward. Niall will come back to them in the morning, trying to dig his way out of his own skin. His eyes will be wide, burning, and his fingers’ll be clawing at himself, the furniture, the boys. His lips will be moving soundlessly as if he wants to say something, or try to calm himself down, or ask a pleading question, but all that’ll come out will be a high whine laced with every distressing thought in his mind.

It’s happened before, once. They’ve made sure it hasn’t ever happened again.

Louis finds himself making his way across the bar before he makes the conscious decision, and then he’s at Niall’s side, pressing his palm against the small of his back. The girl gives him a glare, opening her mouth as if to object, but Louis bares his teeth in a smile that’s really more a possessive sneer. She bites back her protests and takes the slightest step back.

Louis turns his attention to Niall’s upturned eyes, seeing the unrestrained chaos behind them.

“ _You’ve had enough tonight_ , I think,” he says quietly, repeating Liam’s words from that very first time, and feels Niall immediately lean into the hand on his back, ready to be led wherever Louis can take him.

It scares him sometimes, how completely Niall trusts them.

~

Louis laments internally as he guides Niall back to his and Harry’s flat.

This isn’t _that_ kind of relationship; they aren’t all _boyfriends_. The very idea makes Louis want to roll his eyes and maybe hit someone, because _come on_. That term promises the wrong kind of emotions for what they have.

(But in the strictest sense and for his own safety, Niall is theirs.)

~

By the time Louis leads him into his and Harry’s flat, Niall’s shaking in his skin, skittish and ready. The second the door closes behind them, Niall is on him, pressed flush against Louis, his hands seeming to be everywhere at once as he kicks off his shoes. As soon as those calloused fingertips begin tugging at the hem of Louis’ shirt, the older boy grabs Niall’s wrists, clutching them much too tightly in his hands; Niall’s eyes roll back into his head slightly, a soft moan escaping him.

“Did I say you could touch me?” Louis growls, leaning close and nipping at the boy’s jaw.

Niall shivers. Louis’ always the roughest with him, quite unsurprisingly. When he looks up, Louis’ eyes are trained expectantly on him; he’s waiting for an answer.

“N-no.”

Louis cocks an eyebrow, making Niall swallow dryly.

“ _No, sir_.”

Niall waits for instructions, twitching when Louis is quiet for a moment. Pondering.

“I’m going to make myself something to eat,” Louis finally says, quietly, conversationally. “Go into my room. You’d better be naked on my bed by the time I’ve finished if you want to come tonight.” He pauses, still not letting go of Niall’s wrists despite how badly the boy is now shuddering, “And use the handcuffs.”

He releases the Niall’s wrists and hasn’t even blinked before he was gone. Louis allows himself a small smile, heading to the kitchen and thoroughly enjoying the sound of the clinking metal handcuffs drifting out from his room. He takes his time, making a sandwich and waiting until he can hear Niall’s soft pants from the bedroom before he cleans up and strides easily across the flat.

The sight he’s met with when he enters the bedroom makes his breath catch in his throat.

Niall is stretched taut, facedown, atop the sheets, his arms pulled over his head and attached via the handcuffs to the headboard, the long line of his back lean and inviting and glistening already with a light sheen of sweat. His knees are tucked underneath him, showing off the curve of his ass in a way that has Louis unconsciously licking his lips, and his blonde head is ducked down between his extended arms to display his pale neck.

He looks absolutely delicious.

“Fuck,” Louis grunts, stepping into the room. Niall’s head immediately twists to meet his heady gaze, those blue eyes darkened in need. Louis swallows and runs his finger from the tip of the Irish boy’s spine down to the smooth dip just above his ass, enjoying the shiver he earns.

“What did you think would happen? With that girl in the club?” Louis questions softly, his voice steady.

Niall buries his face into the pillow and whines high in his throat, trying so hard to focus while Louis draws shapes across his burning skin with his finger. “I…I’m sorry—I didn’t—”

Louis licks his palm and cuts Niall off with a sharp smack to his ass, drinking in the image of Niall as he jerks fiercely, his head snapping up and his face scrunching in an expression that might look like pain to the untrained eye but Louis knows better.

“ _AH fuck_ , oh god—Louis, I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_! Oh god, please do it again,” he sobs, trying to arch back into Louis’ hand but the handcuffs won’t allow him to move any further back. He’s pulling too hard on the small chain links as it was; there’ll be bruises and broken skin circling his thin wrists in the morning if he isn’t careful.

(Good.)

“What were you going to do, Niall?” Louis ignores Niall’s pleas, his voice still low and balanced. “Would you have let her take you home? Let her suck your cock, maybe?”

Niall is still arching back, giving away no indication that he’s heard Louis’ question. Louis frowns, dropping another smack to the boy’s cheeks before immediately snaking his hand up into the blonde hair to yank his head back hard. He licks a thick stripe up the exposed throat, feeling Niall’s gasps underneath his tongue, and trails up to take the younger’s earlobe between his teeth.

Waiting patiently until Niall’s moans died down and he caught his breath, Louis whispers, “Are you listening to me?”

His grip tightens in Niall’s hair, watching as Niall jerks his head in a frantic nod, his eyes still squeezed shut.

“Good,” Louis mutters in approval, dropping his head to bite and suck hard at Niall’s shoulder before stepping back, cutting off all physical contact; Niall whines and turns his head to face the older boy. Louis pulls off his shirt and lets it drop to the floor before he crawls onto the bed behind the shaking Irish boy.

“You know what I think?” Louis continues conversationally. His hands trail over Niall’s back, clutch at his hips, trace every dip of his vertebrae. “I think you did it on purpose. I think you wanted this to happen, and so you led that poor girl on knowing that one of us would find you first.”

Louis clicks his tongue in mock sympathy for the girl from the club.

“You’re just lucky it wasn’t Liam who found you. Can you imagine?”

Niall whimpers. _Don’t do it, never disappoint Liam_ —

Louis carries on in a more serious tone, “You know why we can’t just let you fuck anyone who wants you.” He pauses and presses his thumb into the darkening bite mark he’d left on the younger’s pale shoulder. “We don’t want you to have to go through that again.”

Niall’s head twitches in what might be a nod, and he takes a deep, shaky breath. “I—I know. But I—I can’t…please, Louis, _please_ just—”

His knees inch further apart and Louis grins. Niall can’t even form a coherent sentence, and Louis not-so-secretly loves it.

Watching Niall tremble underneath his touch, and how the kid opens himself up in invitation, and the way he’s coming undone just because of what Louis is saying to him…Louis allows himself to admit that maybe this isn’t all just for Niall’s benefit.

“What do you want, Niall?”

The words are barely out of his mouth before Niall’s panting, “Fuck me. Please.”

“Fuck you how?” Louis smirks, pressing his thumb more painfully into the bite mark.

Niall moans and lets his back arch inward so far it can’t be healthy. “Oh God— _hard_ , so hard—”

Louis trails his fingers from the Niall’s shoulder around to press insistently against his lips.

“Suck.”

Niall opens his mouth immediately, wrapping his tongue around Louis’ fingers, hollowing his cheeks around them. Louis’ eyes slips shut. He sighs; the kid sure knows how to use his mouth—they all can attest to that by now. Niall nips at the digits, almost as an unconscious afterthought, earning a throaty chuckle from Louis.

Finally, Louis pulls his fingers from the Niall’s mouth (much to his displeasure) and scoots closer to the cuffed boy. He brings his slicked fingers down to Niall’s entrance while his other hand wraps tightly around his thin hips, pressing soothing circles into the skin. Without waiting for any sort of permission, he slips two fingers into the tight body, nipping at Niall’s shoulder blade.

Niall keens softly, pressing his face into the pillow when Louis’ grip tightens on his hip.

“You okay, Nialler?”

“Louis, Louis _please_ , fuck, I’m so fucking…—I’m already _ready_ , I—”

Louis’ almost content to listen to him beg but Niall learned long ago that being mouthy is not tolerated.

“That’s another minute.”

There’s only so much that he can give, but Louis’ determined. He crooks his fingers inside Niall, pressing firmly against that small bundle of nerves over and over until Niall’s howling, bearing down on his hand and sounding so fucking _shameless_ that Louis feels his pants growing tighter. He lets his gaze rake up the Niall’s body, up to the handcuffs around his wrists; his eyes widen when he sees the thin beads of blood forming underneath the metal. Niall’s pulling so hard on his restraints his skin is bloody and raw, the little masochist. Liam will kick Louis’ ass for that, but Niall isn’t complaining and Louis figures it’s probably good for him anyway.

Niall’s minute is almost up when the sound of the front door opening makes Louis’ hand still. Another soft whine from Niall indicates that he hasn’t noticed anything besides Louis and his magic fingers, but he falls silent as well when Harry’s voice calls out.

“Louis? You here?”

“Bedroom!” Louis shouts back.

A pause. Louis can only assume he’s seen Niall’s shoes at the door when Harry calls out again, the tone of his voice shadowed and anticipatory, “’S Niall here?”

Louis looks Niall over, a possessive glint in his eye as he takes in the Niall’s blonde hair against the pillow, his arms extended toward the headboard, the expanse of his back leading down to the delectable slender hips on which his hand rests. His ass, bared and tight around his fingers. “He’s here, alright.”

They listen—or, well, Louis listens…he has no idea what’s going through Niall’s head, if anything—as Harry kicks off his own shoes and heads toward Louis’ room.

When he appears in the doorway, his hand freezes in the middle of running through his hair.

“Hi Harry,” Louis says casually, as if Harry _hasn’t_ just walked in to see one of his best mates naked and handcuffed to the bed, and another of his best mates shirtless and with his fingers deep inside the first.

“ _Fuck_ , guys,” Harry says. Louis flashes him a wide grin but Niall’s too busy rutting his hips impatiently, and probably will be until Louis _fucking moves his fingers already, goddamnit_.

Louis twists his fingers patiently, turning his smile on Harry again when Niall’s abrupt gasp transforms into a low moan.

“Wanna play, Harry?”

Harry hums absently, his eyes flicking from the blood on Niall’s wrists to his face, twisted in obvious pleasure, to where Louis’ fingers disappear into the Niall’s tense body.

This is going to be one of _those_ nights, then.

The youngest boy then shrugs, dragging a chair from the corner of the room to where he has the best view of the two on the bed, and sinks down into it. He pops the button of his jeans and pulls his hardening dick free to stroke it a few times. He nods his head toward Louis, matching his grin. “Carry on, then.”

“Awh, you little voyeur,” Louis teases fondly before turning his attention back to Niall. “How y’doing Nialler?”

Niall whines, trying to sink further onto Louis’ fingers but there’s nothing left to take. “Please, more.”

Louis finally acquiesces, pushing a third finger in beside the other two.

More whines from Niall. “Not enough, _not enough_ , oh god, please, _fuck_ , I need—”

He’s breathing heavily, shaking hard, tugging on the handcuffs, until Louis threatens, “Niall, so help me God, if you don’t stop pulling on your wrists I’m going to uncuff you.”

Niall immediately stops and Louis presses his fingers against his prostate again as a reward. “Good boy. Now listen,” he mutters, pulling his fingers from Niall’s body. Wriggling out of his own jeans, Louis ignores the groan of loss from the Niall in favor of leaning up, his chest to Niall’s back, and whispering into his ear, “Harry’s over there, he’s going to watch, okay? And you’re going to put on a good show for him, right?”

Not at all satisfied with the low moan Niall responds with, Louis once more threads his fingers into the blonde hair, yanking his head back to expose the long, pale column of his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Niall’s jaw drops slack in a desperate sob as he tries to grind back into Louis. His eyes, darkened, meet with Harry’s across the room as he gasps, “ _Yes_ , oh god, Louis! _Yes, nnngh_ —”

Harry, for his part, barely has time to feel sorry for Niall (even though he knows Niall’s loving every fucking second of this) before Louis’ pushing into the waiting, writhing body and Niall’s choking on a guttural groan.

This is exactly what Niall needed. The slow, sharp burn of his body stretching around Louis’ cock, the sting of Louis’ fingernails digging into his hipbones, even the grounding ache surging through his raw wrists. The pain keeps him from receding too far into his own mind, keeps him from fearing he’ll never find his way out.

It’s always pain with Louis. Zayn’s the one to give him some semblance of control; he lets Niall do whatever comes to mind until he’s a sweating, shattered mess of a boy, and then Zayn will break the illusion and take the reins, bringing Niall as close as he can to the brink. Harry, on the other hand, is always—always—hesitant at first, no matter how many times they’ve gone through this, as though wondering if he’s really cut out for this kind of thing. (He always comes around though, more than eager to help Niall out.) And then there’s Liam.

Liam.

Liam takes good care of Niall. Liam is always the first and last resort; if he can’t wrench Niall free of whatever it is that takes hold of him on these nights, no one can.

Liam is _it_.

Niall’s thoughts are abruptly cut short when Louis’ hand falls warningly across his ass. He lets out a sharp gasp followed immediately by a moan.

“That’s what I thought,” Louis growls, and as he sped up his thrusts Niall can’t help curling his fingers into fists and yanking on the handcuffs. Lucky for him, Louis doesn’t notice.

Try as he might, Niall can’t roll his hips back to meet Louis’ thrusts, so he only grunts, “ _Faster_ ,” and takes it when Louis obliges.

The noises falling from the Niall’s lips are distinctly animalistic, so entirely unlike anything either of the other two boys have ever heard, and when Niall glances over, Harry’s eyes are glued to them, his fist flying over his cock. He holds the youngest boy’s green gaze, jerking with the force of Louis’ hips, breaking eye contact only to roll his eyes back into his head when Louis hits that _holyfucksogoodsogood_ spot inside him.

“Louis, please, I can’t…it’s not—”

Louis curses under his breath. It isn’t going to be enough. Niall needs more than he can give on his own. _It isn’t enough_. So, his eyes half-lidded and his tongue darting across his lips, Louis rests his forehead against Niall’s back and turns his gaze on Harry.

“Haz, _fuck_. Get over here.”

Harry immediately jumps up from his chair, earning a grin from the Louis. “Eager, much?”

Harry only rolls his eyes in response. Stupid, smirking Louis. Of course he’s eager. He’s so hard it’s painful and the time for restraint is long gone. He walks toward the head of the bed, his cock protruding almost comically in front of him, and he wraps his fingers lightly around one of Niall’s fists.

“Okay, I’m going to uncuff you, Nialler. It’s going to hurt at first, but I need you to go up on your hands and knees, alright?” He explains softly to the boy. Niall gives a faint nod along with his next drawn-out moan, still being rocked forward by the force of Louis’ thrusts.

With a quick nod at Louis to stop for a moment, Harry easily unlatches the trick cuffs and brings Niall’s arms down, gently rubbing the feeling back into them.

“Okay Niall, up you go. And no touching yourself; you know what’ll happen if you do. Come on, then. ”

With a light groan of soreness, Niall pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, already impatient for Louis to start fucking him again. He watches with hungry eyes as Harry settles onto the bed in front of him, tangling his long fingers into the sweaty blonde hair, and pushes the head of his cock insistently against soft lips.

Louis’ using every last bit of his willpower to hold his hips still, watching Harry watch Niall, and it’s all he can do to pry one of his hands from Niall’s hip, drag it up the dip of his arched back, and wrap it around his shoulder. He rotates his hips against Niall’s ass, meeting Harry’s lustful eyes when the Irish boy groans, and gives a tiny shove against him.

“Open wide for him, Nialler.”

Niall obediently drops his jaw, allowing Harry to slide his length in, and Louis instantly resumes his rhythm— _fasthardsosogood_ —again.

Harry wastes no time; his hands holding Niall’s head still, he thrusts hard against the blonde’s face. He’ll never get used to it, he thinks, the way it feels when the head of his cock pulses against the back of his best mate’s throat. He allows himself a small smile when Niall’s eyes cross just slightly, thick, wet choking sounds dropping from his abused lips.

Niall’s just so fucking shameless when he gets like this. Total cockslut.

“That’s it, Niall— _oh god_ —just like that,” is all Harry could manage. The strength of Louis’ thrusts are forcing Niall that much further onto his cock, but Niall doesn’t complain once, content to be pushed and pulled between his two bandmates. It’s as though the two won’t be happy until they’ve broken Niall in half, and he absolutely _loves_ it.

It isn’t until Niall feels Harry’s stomach pressing against his forehead as he leans forward, and Louis’ chest against his back, that he feels it all starting to gang up on him. He can hear the wet sounds of his two bandmates’ kiss over his own moans, can feel the smooth underside of Harry’s length against his fervent tongue, can _definitely_ feel Louis still pounding furiously away at his prostate, and his mind is a frenzy and it still isn’t enough but Louis’ hand is suddenly on his cock and he can’t hold it back anymore—

He’s coming so hard he can see white dotting his vision, screaming a moan that sounds as though it’s been torn from his throat. The clenching of his muscles propels Louis over the edge as well, and after a gasping shout and a few more shallow thrusts, he pulls out. Niall’s arms are shaking under his own weight and he wonders idly how long it’ll be before he collapses.

Harry’s hands are tightening in his hair again and then he’s pulling his length out, groaning when Niall hollows his cheeks and sucks hard in attempt to keep him in.

“Drop your jaw,” Harry pants and Niall does. After stroking himself a few more times, Harry throws his head back, striping Niall’s lips and cheeks in cum. “ _Fuck_ , Niall, so good. You’ve been so _good_.”

Niall licks his lips appreciatively, reveling in Harry’s gasped praise, before collapsing heavily against the bed. He focuses on his breathing, now steady, as the other two boys lazily crawl off the bed.

“Look at him. Jesus Christ,” Harry mutters, pushing blonde hair off Niall’s sweaty forehead.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, an exhausted yet cheeky grin stretching his face, “He looks like he was bent over and fucked from both ends, doesn’t he? ‘Magine that.”

And then Louis crosses the room to the ensuite, stepping inside to wet a washcloth with warm water. He trudges back to Niall’s side, wiping gently at the Irish boy’s face and cleaning the blood from his wrists while Niall watches him with adoring eyes.

“There we go. You were so good, Ni.”

Niall gives a small smile while Louis presses a kiss to his temple and straightens back up to go rinse the cloth. When he comes back into the bedroom, however, Niall is already sitting cross-legged on the bed, watching his every move with hopeful eyes.

“Seriously?” Louis exclaims, sharing a look with Harry. “Again?! Quite honestly, I’m a little offended Harry and I weren’t enough for you,” he teases, but Niall only cocks his head, looking for all the world like a confused puppy that hasn’t heard a word Louis’ said.

Harry sighs. “I’d suggest we send him to Liam, but I think he’s Skyping with Danielle.” The two standing boys politely ignore the way Niall’s eyes flame at that. “I’ll take him to Zayn. Come on, Nialler, let’s get dressed.”

They help Niall’s into his shirt and boxers (despite his struggling attempts to only get out of them again) and Harry takes him by the arm. It strikes him as slightly strange that they treat Niall as a whore one minute and then as a helpless child the next; the boy is both, he supposes, on nights like this.

“Get back here soon, Harry,” Louis calls as Harry leads Niall from their flat. “I’m not done with you yet!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's reading, I hope you're liking it so far! Much love.
> 
> Also, god, is it super obvious this story was written during the carrot era? Ugh.


	3. Zayn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Christ, Niall,” Zayn pants, already lifting a hand to pull Niall’s boxers down roughly just over the curve of his ass to stop mid-thigh. He speaks through clenched teeth into Niall’s neck, “The things that come out of your mouth sometimes, I swear to god.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OI ZAYN'S TURN

Harry drapes his arm securely across Niall’s trembling shoulders, his free hand rising to knock on Zayn’s door. They hear some muffled movements and mumbling from inside the flat and then the door swings open. Zayn smiles at them, rubbing idly at his bare chest. His sweatpants are riding dangerously low on his tanned hips and his hair is still perfectly coiffed; he must’ve just gotten back from the club.

Harry hopes he doesn’t have a girl with him.

“’S happenin’, boys,” Zayn greets brightly, and Harry waits, watches.

3…2…1…

Zayn notices Niall’s far-away look and the blonde hair plastered to his forehead, can see the bruising bite mark on his shoulder peeking out of his t-shirt. He inhales sharply, muttering a soft _‘oh,’_ and switches his gaze back to Harry.

“It’s bad tonight,” Harry explains softly, adding, “Are you, uh… _busy_?”

Zayn shakes his head, understanding the implication in Harry’s question. “Nah. Figured it would be, did you _see_ the way he was on stage tonight?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, dropping his voice, “Louis and I couldn’t help him.” He glances down at Niall’s blank expression, suspecting that he hadn’t heard a word of their conversation.

Zayn raises his eyebrows. “You and Louis together?” When Harry nods nonchalantly, Zayn looks mildly impressed. “That’s new. Alright, little leprechaun, come in.”

He holds out a hand and Niall finally looks at him confusedly like he’s never seen Zayn before in his life, but then Zayn cocks a brow, repeats, _“Come on,”_ and Niall’s eyes clear a bit. He rushes past Zayn into the flat only to be caught by the arm. He turns, looking straight into the taller’s smoldering brown eyes.

“Go into the kitchen,” Zayn orders, his voice so low and authoritative that Niall can’t help the shiver that wriggles down his spine.

After Niall takes off into the flat, Zayn turns back to see Harry’s small, almost-amused smile. “I got him.”

“You’re sure?”

Zayn waves him off. “’S no problem. Really.”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry gives a quick grin before turning serious. “Take him to Liam if you have to, yeah?”

“Sure, sure.” Zayn shakes his head, his voice indifferent yet slightly amused. “It’s always Liam for this, huh?”

Harry allows a slight chuckle. “It’s always Liam,” he agrees. “Good luck.”

“See y’tomorrow.” Zayn closes and locks the door before turning to go find his guest.

Niall’s standing stoic in the center of the kitchen, looking entirely unsure of what to do with himself. While Zayn watches in silence, Niall rubs at his wrists (is that— _blood?_ ), pressing his fingers into the skin and letting a soft gasp slip past his lips. Finally, Zayn takes an audible step into the room and Niall’s head jerks up to watch him with hawk-like eyes.

“You can take your shirt off,” Zayn tells him quietly, knowing Niall usually needs a little direction to get the ball rolling.

Immediately, the t-shirt is on the floor.

With two long strides, Zayn’s in front of Niall, running his finger over the bite mark on his shoulder, the finger-shaped bruises already forming on his hipbones. He glances down at the blood-ringed wrists, laughing inwardly at what an ass-kicking Louis will get from Liam for that.

They have very few rules, but ‘no visible marks’ is a big one. ‘Don’t ruin his voice’ is at the top of the list, no matter how difficult it is to hold back when Niall has his mouth around one of their cocks.

Niall lifts his hand, holding his fingers just inches from Zayn’s chest. He looks up with stormy, loaded eyes, begging for permission to touch.

Zayn smiles. “You’re not with Louis anymore. You’re with me,” he mutters pointedly. “Do what you want.”

Niall splays his fingers across his chest, running them up and down, skirting up the soft skin to wrap his arms around Zayn’s neck. He caresses the nape of the taller boy’s neck fervently, curling his fingers into the coarse hair; it’s almost like he hasn’t been able to use his sense of touch in ages (which, okay, considering the crusting blood around Niall’s wrists coupled with Louis’ solid appreciation for bondage, he probably _hasn’t_ ).

Without any warning, Niall jumps up, wrapping his legs securely around Zayn’s waist while Zayn’s hands immediately fly to Niall’s ass to hold him up. Niall arches his body against Zayn’s, the hot skin-on-skin contact making them both groan. Niall squirms in his grasp, thrusting his hips and pressing his cock into Zayn’s stomach.

Niall throws his head back and Zayn’s mouth immediately latches onto his neck, nipping teasingly but never hard enough to bruise.

“God, Zayn,” Niall whips his head back down to moan, breathy and desperate, into Zayn’s ear. “ _I want you to fuck me so hard I’ll taste it._ Oh, god, I want it. Make me _scream_.”

He punctuates his request with another sharp rut of his hips, pressing himself tightly against the hard line of Zayn’s chest.

“Christ, Niall,” Zayn pants, already lifting a hand to pull Niall’s boxers down roughly just over the curve of his ass to stop mid-thigh. He speaks through clenched teeth into Niall’s neck, “The things that come out of your mouth sometimes, I swear to god.”

He gives his neck a quick lick, tasting salty sweat and the unmistakable flavor of sex. Niall whimpers softly into his ear, running his fingers through the black hair and mussing it, but Zayn can’t really bring himself to care about that just now. He lifts Niall higher on his waist to lap at his collarbone while simultaneously running his hand down the underside of Niall’s thighs. He hastily tugs his own sweats down just enough to expose his cock, rubbing the head against Niall’s ass and thoroughly enjoying the needy groan it elicits from him.

“Zayn, please.”

The older boy rests his forehead in the hollow of Niall’s heaving throat. “You want prep?”

Niall drops his hips, trying desperately to sink onto Zayn’s dick, but the heavy hands on his ass prevent him from doing so.

“N- _no_ , fuck, I don’t need it—I’m already—just… _fuck, do it_.”

Zayn doesn’t telling twice. He strokes his cock lazily before replacing his hand back on Niall’s ass. He lifts the smaller boy just slightly, spine tingling as Niall’s fingers twist harder into the hair on the back of his head, and eases him all the way down onto his length. He waits, breathing heavily into Niall’s damp neck.

Niall whines at the delicious burning stretch and lifts his hips impatiently. That’s all the invitation Zayn needs. He wraps a hand tightly around Niall’s hip, making sure to dig into the present bruises if only because he knows Niall loves it, and presses circles into the skin.

“Hold on,” he mutters, feeling the arms around his neck constrict and dull nails drag down his back, and then he moves. He drops his hips at the same time he lifts Niall’s, and brings Niall back down sharply, earning a moan that echoes his own when their hips crash together.

They build a rhythm.

The room is quiet, save for the shared groans and heavy breathing. Niall’s moans pick up when Zayn hammers against his prostate, bouncing in his throat and across his lips with the force of Zayn’s hips rocking up into his. Niall’s arms and legs are wrapped vice-like around Zayn’s neck and waist, holding on for dear life as though Zayn has any intention of leaving.

It doesn’t take long for Zayn’s legs to begin to shake under their combined weights, so he carries Niall forward to press his back hard against the nearest wall, effectively pinning him with his hips. With the added support, he drives his cock forward that much harder, both of his hands grasping Niall’s own thin hipbones, and Niall’s head falls back against the wall with a dull thud. Niall’s hands are clenched around his shoulders, nails digging into the skin, and his lips pull back over his clenched teeth, his eyes shut tight.

Zayn can’t even believe the noises ripping from Niall’s abused throat, the visceral groans, the desperate sobs, the bodily growls.

(He hadn’t even known it was possible for a human to even make noises like that until this whole thing started happening with Niall, but fuck if those sounds aren’t some of the sexiest things he’s ever heard.)

Zayn hauls him up just a bit further so Niall’s chin rests against his forehead as their bodies move in synchronization. Niall’s hair is falling in his face, his back scraping roughly against the wall, but he doesn’t protest and Zayn doesn’t stop. He watches Niall, their proximity so close that his eyes nearly cross in doing so, and studies every tiny detail, each miniscule facial contortion, and he can tell. It still won’t be enough for Niall.

Not long after that, Zayn feels it all starting to build up, can sense temporary bliss coaxing him lovingly, and he closes his hand around Niall’s neglected cock to pump in time with his increasingly frantic thrusts.

Niall squirms, rocking his hips down hard to meet Zayn’s every thrust. He wriggles as though searching for something he can’t quite find, his breath hitching each time their hips met, and he stammers, “ _Oh, f-fuck_ , Zayn…I can’t, _please_ , just—”

Zayn lets his grip tighten on Niall’s length, now thrusting so hard he idly fears pushing Niall straight through the wall, and pulls his lips back over his teeth to whisper, “Come for me, Nialler.”

And just like that, Niall freezes, gritting his teeth before letting his jaw fall slack to moan one last, broken time, and paints Zayn’s fist and stomach in milky white strings. His muscles tighten around Zayn’s dick and Zayn’s done for; he barely has time for one more thrust before he’s coming as well, choking on a strangled gasp and clutching Niall’s hips so hard he knows he’ll have to apologize for making the already-present bruises worse.

They breathe against each other for a few moments, and then Zayn gives Niall’s ass a quick pat. Niall unwinds his legs from Zayn’s waist and drops to his feet, wobbling under the reintroduction of gravity. Zayn quickly grabs a few paper towels, cleaning the cum from his stomach and then the sweat from Niall’s forehead while he watches with wide, turbulent blue eyes.

Zayn sighs, shaking his head. “Damn, Niall.”

Niall only stares at him. It isn’t enough. There’s a steady mantra in his head, screaming, _notenoughnotenoughnotenough_. He’s starting to shake again already.

“Alright,” Zayn shakes his head, gingerly pulling up his sweats and reaching forward to do the same to Niall’s boxers. “Before I take you to Liam, let me see your back. Go on, turn around.”

Niall does, placing his hands flat against the wall. There are angry, red scratches from being pushed against the wall littering the expanse of Niall’s back, and Zayn drags his finger down one of them purposefully, chuckling when Niall shivers.

“Perfect,” he mutters, a small smirk on his face as he observes his mark.

Niall turns to face him again, then, looking hopeful.

“Alright, alright. Horny bastard,” Zayn teases before taking hold of Niall’s arm. “Come on. Let’s let Liam get this out of your system, then.”


	4. Liam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It should scare him sometimes, he thinks, how well he’s memorized Niall’s body. He knows exactly what Niall’s reaction will be to every move he makes, what noises will fall from his lips when he flicks his wrist just so. The picture Niall makes…so fucking _perfect_ , his head thrown back and pushing into the pillows, his back arching off the bed, spine curled into a desirable curve. All because of—and for—Liam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait on this, I've been way too busy, ugh. But oh well, here it is - Liam's chapter!
> 
> Also, please forgive the carrot-ness of this story. It was written during the cringe-worthy, young times in the fandom. Oi.

Liam answers the door with a small, knowing smile, his eyes on Niall as though he’s been expecting them all night. Which, granted, he probably _has_ been.

“Well, I have to say, Niall, you’re looking awfully run-down,” Liam teases lightly, and Niall’s eyes train on him, hanging onto his every word. Liam lets his eyes wander from the blonde hair, slightly darker with sweat and plastered heavily to his forehead, down to the harsh, purpling teeth marks on his shoulder. He can see the start of nasty scratches down Niall’s back and he looks over to Zayn’s triumphant smile.

“Jesus, Zayn,” Liam laughs. The bite has to have been Louis’, the scratches Zayn’s…Liam wonders idly where Harry’d left his mark.   
  
His eyes travel down until they land on—

“The _fuck_ is on his wrists, Zayn?” Liam’s smile disappears in a second, his eyes now bright with anger.

Zayn throws his hands up in a defensive gesture. “You know I’m not the one who ties him up.”

Liam throws a murderous look in the direction of Harry and Louis’ flat before holding out his hand expectantly toward Niall, who immediately lifts his own hand to let Liam inspect his wrists. Liam carefully runs his thumb over the raw skin, watching Niall’s eyes roll back into his head when he presses down experimentally on the cuts and blood wells up around his fingers.

Liam sighs, still clutching Niall’s wrist. “Okay. Thanks Zayn, I’ll take it from here.”

Zayn nods, his mouth stretching in a yawn. “Yeah, alright,” he mutters, clapping Liam on the shoulder and turning back toward his own flat.

“Listen to me, Niall,” Liam says as he pulls the boy in and closes the door. He leans close to study Niall’s wide, darting eyes. “Danielle is on the webcam. I’m going to bring you over to the bed and you’re going to sit on it and be good, okay? You’re going to keep your hands to yourself until I disconnect the feed, right?”

Niall can hardly focus on anything with Liam this close. His fingers are itching to feel the warm, tanned skin, his tongue tingling for just a little taste, his entire body shaking for Liam’s touch, but he forces himself to nod at the older boy, willing to follow any and all of Liam’s instructions.

“Good,” Liam murmurs, pressing his lips much too gently against Niall’s before leading him through the flat and to his bedroom. Liam sits down in front of the computer, Niall falling down beside him. Niall’s hyperaware of Liam’s presence, the feel of their arms pressed tight against each other, but he takes a deep, centering breath and lifts a hand to wave at the girl on the screen.

“Niall just dropped in, Dani. He’s feeling a little, uh, homesick, so I think we’re just gonna hang out for the night.”

“Oh, sure, of course. Well I hope you feel better tomorrow, Niall,” Danielle chirps, a caring, pretty smile on her face.

It’s not that Niall hates her. Really. She’s actually quite sweet; they all adore the girl, himself included. It just frustrates him that she doesn’t—and can’t—know that Liam is _his_. He wants to wrap his arms possessively around Liam, growl at the girl on the screen and never, ever share what’s his.

But instead, he forces a small smile onto his face and clears his throat. “T-thanks.”

“Talk to you later, Li,” Danielle says. “Love you.”

“Yeah, I’ll call you tomorrow,” Liam replies, carefully ignoring her last comment. “Bye, Danielle.” He cuts the feed.

The second he shuts the screen and sets the computer on the nightstand, Niall falls onto his back on the bed, spreading his legs wide and staring at Liam with hooded eyes.

Liam holds his heady gaze for a moment from where he’s now standing at the foot of the bed. Niall adopts a questioning look, his fingers twitching, his lips moving soundlessly, and Liam can tell how hard Niall’s trying to be good for him, to control himself; Liam makes a mental note to reward him for that later.

Niall lets his arms lift above his head to drift toward the headboard, his eyes still curious in a way that boasts no innocence. Liam watches his movements with slight amusement before shaking his head. He sinks onto the bed, crawling up to lower himself carefully between Niall’s legs. One hand comes up to rest to the side of Niall’s head, supporting his weight, while the other curls possessively around Niall’s hip, his thumb brushing idly across the light bruises he finds there. He thoroughly enjoys the feel of his body pressed tight against the younger boy’s, and he lets his hips roll to meet Niall’s.

He doesn’t want to torture Niall for too long, but he allows himself a moment to study the boyish face so close to his own, each twitch of his eyebrow, the tiny purse of his lips, the stormy blue eyes begging for something Liam truly wants to give.

(It’s the way their bodies fit together, the smooth flush of hot skin on skin, the implication of the bond they share. Niall looks and feels so good—so _right_ —it stuns him sometimes.)

Niall lets out a breathy whine, pushing his hips up and needing Liam to _hurry the fuck up already_ , but Liam only smiles and mutters, “Hold still,” and Niall freezes beneath him save for the almost imperceptible—yet entirely involuntary—rut of his hips against Liam’s.

With the other boys, it’s frantic, hard and fast in a way that only sets Niall even more on edge. With Liam, it’s a slow and torturous build-up that lifts Niall, splits him open with raw desire, and then wrings him out and brings him back from the corners of his mind. It’s a process. With Liam, he’s forced to concentrate on every single movement and the respective sensations and emotions that accompanies every touch. The experience doesn’t just ghost over him as it does with the other boys.

Of course, Niall loves and is grateful for the other boys’ help. But Louis, Harry, and Zayn do these things _to_ him. Liam does these things _with_ him.

Niall waits with bated breath while Liam dips his head to slowly— _practically slow fucking motion, here_ —press his lips to Niall’s. Immediately, Niall comes alive, his hands falling around Liam’s neck, his head lifting to press harder against Liam’s mouth until Liam pulls back.

He can practically see the heat filling Niall’s eyes again, can recognize him retreating back into his head, can feel his body shaking harder and harder beneath him, but he won’t let this happen. They’ve all worked too hard to get Niall this far. The other three boys have pulled him so close to the edge and all Niall needs is one final tug from Liam to bring him back all the way.

Quickly, Liam presses their lips together again, hard and demanding and with maybe a little too much tongue, but Niall needs it. They don’t break for air, only pull back to gasp against each other’s mouths before diving back in.

Niall’s whimpering into his mouth and grinding his hips harder and this time, Liam lets him. Dull nails scrape at his back as their tongues tangle, and Liam can’t hold back a light groan that has the writhing boy underneath him shuddering uncontrollably.   
  
When Liam finally breaks the kiss, he captures Niall’s bottom lip between his teeth, nipping and pulling at it the way he knows drives the blonde crazy. Niall’s eyelids flutter and he gasps for air when Liam lets go, presses another quick peck to the pink, swollen lips, and trails down to Niall’s heaving chest. He sucks and licks at a spot just above Niall’s left nipple, biting as though he’s trying to tear his way straight through his chest to get to his heart.

Niall’s fingers tangle into the wavy brown hair, hesitance giving way to confident appreciation, and he tugs on Liam’s hair and moans in encouragement.

Liam keeps his mouth latched against the skin, pulling back only when he’s satisfied that the hickey will remain for weeks. He blows cold air on it, grinning when Niall shivers, and presses a final kiss to the bruising skin before continuing his path down Niall’s body.   
  
He curls his fingers into the waistband of Niall’s boxers, pressing a slow kiss to each of the jutting hipbones. Niall lifts his hips helpfully for Liam to carefully slide the offending clothing down his legs and over his feet, and they’re tossed to the floor, already forgotten.

Trailing his hands back up to Niall’s hips, Liam lifts the boy’s legs to rest over his shoulders and nips affectionately at the soft, pale inner thighs. Niall groans, both adoring Liam-The-Fucking-Tease and hating him while keeping needy, chaotic eyes on the brunette the whole time. His long fingers tangle into the brown hair, tugging lightly, trying to convey exactly what he wants, but how do you tell someone you want them to choke on your cock without actually _saying_ it?

He settles for a strangled, “ _Liam_ ,” and bucks his hips against his bandmate’s heavy grip. Liam clicks his tongue in mock annoyance, letting his breath ghost over Niall’s arousal until Niall’s a writhing mess beneath him. He finally grasps Niall’s length and licks a thick stripe up the underside, only to pull back and blow cool air over it before sitting back on his knees while Niall whimpers. He brings his own fingers to his mouth and sucks three in briefly, holding Niall’s half-lidded eyes.

They both know Niall doesn’t need the prep, but it’ll only add to the tense build-up and Niall would never say no to having any part of Liam inside him, anyway.

Liam bends forward again, pressing two fingers against that tight ring of muscle and pushing in at the same time he flicks his tongue against the head of Niall’s dick. Niall lets out a content sigh laced with the need for _more_.

Liam takes his time. He thrusts his fingers in and out of the lithe body as expertly as if it were his own, twisting and prodding to press the pads of his fingers against Niall’s prostate with a practiced ease. It should scare him sometimes, he thinks, how well he’s memorized Niall’s body. He knows exactly what Niall’s reaction will be to every move he makes, what noises will fall from his lips when he flicks his wrist just so. The picture Niall makes…so fucking _perfect_ , his head thrown back and pushing into the pillows, his back arching off the bed, spine curled into a desirable curve. All because of—and for—Liam.

Liam licks his lips.

He knows exactly what the Niall needs, and the precise moment when to give it to him. Quick, kittenish licks to the head of Niall’s dick, almost as if he’s shy, have Niall’s fingers clenching in his hair. Then, tortuously slow, Liam closes his mouth around the head, flicking his tongue against the slit, and one of Niall’s hands abandons Liam’s hair so he can throw his arm over his eyes and grit his teeth. The older boy looks up at him through his eyelashes, a look so unbelievably sultry that Niall’s in danger of coming right here-and-fucking-now, and then Liam carefully lowers his mouth on Niall’s length. Down, down, until Niall can feel the tip of his cock against the back of Liam’s throat.

Niall lets out quick, strangled gasps like he can’t catch his breath, shaking much too hard under Liam, his hips twitching and his hands fisting until his knuckles turn white.

(Like clockwork.)

Slowly, still holding Niall’s wildfire-eyes, Liam sucks his way back up Niall’s dick hard and twists his fingers sharply inside him as if to remind Niall they’re still there.

Niall gasps a sob as Liam lifts his mouth off with an obscene _pop_. The older boy takes a quick breath and flicks his tongue over the head once more with a lazy calm he doesn’t really feel before lowering his mouth all the way down again. And, just like before, he hollows his cheeks as he sucks back up the length, over and over until the noises filling his ears become distinctly primal and dripping with the desperation for something more.

(Through the blurry haze filling his mind, Niall wonders vaguely if Liam’s trying to suck his brain out through his cock.)

“L-Liam, _Liam_ , please—I just—you… _nnngh, god—!_ “ Niall begs without knowing what he’s begging _for_ , his accent thick and slurred. Liam rolls his tongue up the underside of his cock, marveling at the way he can feel Niall’s erratic heartbeat in the vein he finds there. He presses his thumb against Niall’s perineum at the same time he curls his fingers into his prostate, and Liam can’t help the hum of contentment he releases when Niall’s eyes cross just slightly as he screams.

It isn’t long before the muscles in Niall’s stomach begin twitching in the way Liam has come to learn means he’s close. He pulls off the younger boy’s length just enough to suck gently on the head, his hand leaving Niall’s hip to grasp the base of his dick and stroke him.

One last hard suck to the tip of Niall’s cock coupled with a final stroke to his prostate and Niall seizes up, his back arching off the bed and his jaw dropping in a silent scream as he comes down Liam’s throat. Liam gives a few softer sucks to the head, tonguing the slit to milk Niall of everything he has.

And it still isn’t enough.

Liam sits back and watches Niall’s heaving chest, his fluttering eyelids. His fingers curl into the sheets and after a few more breaths, he focuses his gaze on Liam’s. His erection hasn’t waned in the slightest, and Liam lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Niall…”

Niall cuts him off with a raw moan, “I…I’m so _close_ , I just…Please, Liam, I need you—”

Liam’s struck by the improved coherency of Niall’s plea. _He’s so fucking close, he just needs a little more. It won’t take much._

“Sit up. On your knees.”

Niall’s up immediately, his hard dick standing diligently. Liam takes his place on the bed, leaning against the headboard. He lets his legs fall apart as he looks at expectantly at Niall, who crawls to him, kneeling over him until he throws one of his legs across Liam’s hips to straddle him. He reaches beneath himself to grasp Liam’s pulsing length and quickly sinks onto it, purring in long-awaited satisfaction as their hips finally meet. Liam’s hands fall heavily onto Niall’s hipbones, thumbs pressing into the bruises that are already there, and he slowly guides Niall’s hips into a rhythm.

Niall quickly takes over. He rocks his hips with ease, rolling his body into perfect curves and throwing his head back, mouth open in a long, drawn-out moan. His hands rest heavily on Liam’s chest to keep his leverage, and his face twists as Liam’s thrusts upward bounce his body. With every clash of their hips, the tip of his cock brushes against Liam’s toned stomach and he instinctively speeds up his movements.

But Liam will have none of that. If Niall doesn’t get the tortuously slow build-up, he won’t be able to unravel.

Liam flips them.

He pins Niall to the bed by laying his forearm flat across his collarbone, and Niall’s legs immediately wrap around Liam’s waist, crossing at the ankles at the small of the older boy’s back and flexing in attempt to pull Liam closer.

“Liam, _fuck_ , nngh, _need you_ —”

Liam acquiesces, sliding his cock into Niall once more, and when their hips meet, Liam holds still despite Niall’s whimpered protests.

“Fuck, fucking— _move_ ,” Niall demands weakly, trying in vain to rock his hips upward against the hold Liam has on him.  
Liam leans forward to connect their lips in a sloppy kiss. He moves to trace the shell of Niall’s ear with his tongue, dropping to nip affectionately at his jaw, and finally trailing down across his neck until he reaches the hickey he’d made earlier. He licks the bruised skin, feeling the jumping heartbeat beneath his tongue, each increasingly desperate noise Niall makes ringing in his ears.

He finally pulls his hips back only to slide them forward just as slowly, agonizing and frustrating and _so, so good_. Niall’s whimpers blossom into guttural moans when Liam positions himself just right to rub against Niall’s prostate with each thrust, and his hands come up to grasp at Liam’s forearms if only because he needs to hold on to _something_.

Liam leans forward so their chests press together, slick, hot skin on skin, Niall’s cock trapped between their bodies as Liam breathes into his ear.

“Shit, Niall, you’re so—nngh—gorgeous like this, you know that?”

He punctuates his words with a particularly sharp grind of his hips and he watches hungrily as Niall’s eyes roll up into his head and his mouth falls slack in a gasp.

“I just—you— _God, Liam_ ,” Niall pants, his nails digging into Liam’s forearms.

No matter how much he pleads, Liam holds his tantalizingly unhurried, hard thrusts, but soon Niall feels it. Liam’s going so slow— _too slow, not slow enough, oh god so perfect_ —and Niall can finally feel the awful tension both draining from his body and building steadily toward exactly what he needs, whatever it is. He can tell; he’s going to reach that point this time.

“Please, fucking _please_ , Li—I’m so _close_ , I can almost, nnngh—”

Understanding the implication in Niall’s strangled words, Liam immediately picks up the speed for the last few seconds, slamming his hips hard into Niall’s. He snakes his hand between their bodies to tug a Niall’s dick roughly, pulling in languid strokes just as he feels his own orgasm beginning to take over him.

Liam’s hands are seemingly everywhere on him, his lips pressed messily against Niall’s, and he can feel Liam coming inside him and this is it. He freezes up, his mouth dropping wide and his tongue twisting around Liam’s name, his toes curling and his heels digging into the small of Liam’s back as he comes, white hot heat shooting through his body. He has a few seconds of complete, blank bliss before it all becomes too much and his eyes roll back into his head as he blacks out.

~

When he comes to a couple minutes later, Liam’s stretched out on the bed beside him, still catching his breath and watching Niall with intense, chocolate eyes. He rolls onto his side in the time it takes for Niall to heave a satisfied sigh.

“Niall? Are you okay?” Liam’s cupping his face, holding his gaze, his voice pointed and urgent.

Niall smiles back lazily, his eyes clear and calm. “Yeah,” he breathes, “I’m okay.”

A bright smile of relief splits Liam’s face and he gently pushes the sweaty hair off Niall’s forehead, bringing their lips together in a soft, searching kiss.

Niall’s the first to break the kiss, looking down as he presses his fingers into the hickey above his heart.

“Thank you, Liam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alriiiiight, so all that's left is the epilogue, and then there's a sequel which I will be posting soon after the epilogue.
> 
> Thank you all for reading <3


	5. Epilogue

He can hear the soft, even breaths of the sleeping boy next to him as he drifts back into consciousness. They’re cocooned in the down comforter, so warm and tight and content that Liam breathes deeply and keeps his eyes closed, just listening. He moves his arm, slung across the Niall’s thin hips, just a fraction, letting his fingers play idly with the soft skin of Niall’s scratched back. He can feel the quiet exhales of his bedmate against his chest, can feel the feathery hair tickling his chin; his stomach muscles twitch at the feel of Niall’s fingers splayed against his skin; Niall cuddles further into him as Liam tightens his hold around the slender waist.

He’d stay here in bed, wrapped up in this boy, forever if he could.

The buzzing of his phone on the nightstand causes Liam to jump, open his eyes, and glare at the offending device. Niall stirs slowly beside him and Liam tightens his hold still, cooing softly into Niall’s ear to lull him back to sleep; sure enough, he feels the exhausted body fall limp against him once more, and Niall’s even breaths resume. Liam closes his eyes again and presses his nose comfortably against the blonde hair. Whoever had texted him could wait.

Unfortunately, the texter seems to disagree. Liam’s phone buzzes unrelentingly, frustrating him more with each vibration. Finally he reaches over, careful not to disturb Niall, and turns the phone off. He settles back into the pillows, letting Niall rest on his chest once more, and closes his eyes in satisfaction.

Of course, he should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. It never is.

No more than five minutes later, he hears his front door opening. With a light groan, he opens his eyes and glowers at the bedroom door just as Louis smashes through it.

Liam immediately silences his Louis’ chatter by throwing a finger up to his lips and sending a deadly glare Louis’ way. Louis adopts an over-exaggerated look of adoration as he takes in the fatigued blonde curled around Liam. He clasps his hands together and silently coos, earning an eye roll from Liam.

 _Get out,_ Liam mouths, wanting to allow Niall as much sleep as possible after his long night.

Louis pouts, gestures toward the cell phone on the nightstand. _You weren’t answering my texts._

_He needs to sleep, Louis._

Louis juts his lower lip out. _We’re making breakfast later._

 _We’ll be over later, then._ Liam nods absently toward the door and Louis takes the hint, huffing before leaving the flat.

Liam heaves another sigh, finally settling down into the loving bed once more and memorizing the feel of Niall’s skin against his own. His fingers continue tracing patterns into the smooth skin until he feels the smaller body tense.

“Niall?” He murmurs into the silence of the room.

No answer. Niall stays stock-still.

“I know you’re awake, Ni. You’re a terrible faker.”

He feels the lips pressed against his chest curl into a small grin before Niall lifts his head to look into his eyes.

“Hi,” he says sleepily.

“Hi, yourself.” Liam smiles, kissing the tip of the Niall’s nose tenderly.

Niall scrunches up his nose with a giggle before he yawns, covering his mouth against the morning breath, but Liam presses their lips together anyway. Slowly, then, he rolls over so Niall’s body is sandwiched between him and the bed, and strokes his thumb over Niall’s jaw. Under Niall’s adoring gaze, he begins to kiss his way down the pale neck to Louis’ bite mark on his shoulder. Liam presses his lips lightly against the bruise, enjoying the sigh it pulls from Niall, and from there he trails down to his own hickey on Niall’s chest. He traces the purpled skin delicately with his index finger before kissing it as well.

Niall’s chuckle from above him causes Liam to smile against the skin and look up.  
“Taking inventory?”

Liam breathes a laugh. “I can’t decide if I want them to heal quickly so you’ll be that pretty pale color again,” he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the love bite, his tone dropping an octave, “or if I want them to stay forever. Remind you who you belong to.”

Niall’s voice is serious when he responds. “As if I could forget.”

Their eyes meet for a long moment before the corner of Liam’s lips quirk up. He nods to himself, pleased with Niall’s answer, and continues his way down the smaller body to the marred hips. He reaches up to twine their fingers together, stroking his thumb over the back of Niall’s hand, while his free hand brushes over the many small, finger-shaped bruises.

“I like these,” he breathes over them, licking his lips.

“Me too.”

Liam finally crawls back up Niall’s body to lie comfortably between his legs; he lifts their intertwined hands up, twisting and turning them so as to study Niall’s wrist close-up. He can feel those bright blue eyes on him, curious for a reaction, but he only kisses the inside of the wrist lightly.

“Just make sure you wear something with long sleeves,” he grumbles, lifting his chin to bring their lips together once more.

~

The-Morning-After is never as awkward as they’d first assumed it would be. Who they all are those nights when Niall loses control is between the five of them, and they’re obviously more than comfortable enough with each other to accept that.

They all congregate in Louis and Harry’s flat for breakfast later that morning.

“Pass the pancakes please,” Zayn says as they sat down, and Niall hands the plate over. Louis flings a square of butter at Harry while Liam pours himself a glass of orange juice. Everything’s back to normal.

That is, until they finally hear Niall’s voice above a bedroom-whisper.

When it quiets down as they all start eating, Niall speaks up, rubbing absently at the red, raw skin around his wrists. “Thanks, you guys.”

His speaking voice is hoarse, startlingly so, making everyone’s head snap up to stare at him. His blue eyes wide, he runs a hand softly over his throat.

“ _Shit_ ,” Liam mutters, exasperated. He glares around the table at the other three boys. “We’ve talked about this! Which of you ruined his voice?!”

Harry’s cheeks steadily redden as he stares down at his plate. Louis, always the ever-helpful, bites back a wide grin and answers nonchalantly.

“I think it was probably Harry’s cock.”

Zayn snorts a laugh, Louis’ lips stretch in a grin, and even Niall can’t hold back his tiny smile. Harry sheepishly looks up to meet Liam’s noncommittal glare, mouthing, _sorry,_ before hastily stuffing a bite of pancakes into his mouth.

“Seriously, Liam, I’ll be okay,” Niall rasps, and Louis nods along with him.

“You worry too much, Li. We don’t even have a show tonight. He’ll be good as new tomorrow, won’t you, Nialler?” Louis chirps, popping some breakfast into his mouth and smiling.

Liam’s wrath turns on the oldest boy, whose smile drops right off his face under the chocolate glare. “And _you._ D’you suppose his wrists will be healed by tomorrow too, then?”

“What?” Louis groans, swallowing as he nodded in the Niall’s direction. “’E’s happy, inne?”

Niall grins in spite of himself, patting Liam’s hand.

Liam frowns at Louis for a bit more before he sighs, taking a bite of his food and pointing his fork at Louis.

“Fine. You’re telling management though.”

~

The next day and a half allows for junk food, laziness, and plenty of snuggles as the five boys settle down to watch movies, and before they know it, they’re being herded into a new venue for their show. As they’re filing out of the van that drove them to the arena, however, Paul stops them.

“Niall, what the hell did you do to your wrists?”

Niall stares at him with increasing panic, his mouth opening and closing uselessly as he tries to come up with a response.

“That’s my fault, actually,” Louis speaks up, coming to Niall’s side and throwing an arm across the his shoulders. “I got a little carried away the other night… cuffed him to the bed and fucked him. You know.”

Louis’ face remains completely serious as he stares down their bodyguard. He ignores the looks of absolute horror from his bandmates (not to mention Niall’s impersonation of a gaping—and very red—fish) in favor of easy nonchalance. Paul eyes him skeptically, rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up when Louis’ poker-face cracks into a grin.

“You know what, I don’t even want to know. I’m way too tired for your jokes, Lou.”

To the astonishment of the boys, Paul turns and walks off, leaving Louis grinning and smug.

“See?” he crows, slapping Liam on the back as they head into the building. “You worry too much.”

~

“Fifteen minutes, guys.”

A roadie alerts them before ducking out of the dressing room, leaving the band alone.

“You know that wasn’t funny back there, Louis,” Zayn scolds idly from in front of the mirror, adding finishing touches of product to his hair.

“Oh, shut it, Zayn. It was hilarious,” Louis teases good-naturedly.

“Well now you’ve planted the idea in his mind.”

“He’s not going to suspect anything. He thought I was joking, remember?”

It’s quiet for a moment while Louis pulls his suspenders over his shoulders. Liam’s sitting on the couch, his phone in his hands, while Niall stands beside Zayn in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his polo and rubbing at the wraps around his wrists; Harry’s pulling his chinos up over his briefs, buttoning them before speaking up, a smirk evident in his voice.

“Now if he’d heard your voice yesterday, mate, _then_ he’d have reason to be suspicious.”

A collective laugh erupts throughout the room, even Liam letting out a small chuckle.

The same roadie sticks his head in again.

“Ten minutes.”

As they all start to file out of the room, Niall abruptly grabs Liam’s hand. Liam looks back at him, and within a second, he recognizes it, the tension in the Niall’s body and eyes, the way his fingers flex around Liam’s wrist. His jaw clenches as he stares blankly at the ground, and when he raises his eyes, Liam can see the fire in them.

Liam’s stomach drops in panic.

“Niall, fuck. Are you serious? We haven’t even gone on yet!” Liam hisses, catching the attention of the other three boys who turn to look, understanding filling their features as well.

“Shit. _Shit_ ,” Harry mumbles while Zayn rubs a hand across his jaw.

“We can’t go on with him like this. I’m gunna go find Paul,” Louis sayes, his fingers combing through his hair as he turns to leave.

“No,” Liam stops him, a steely glint in his eye, his jaw squared. “You guys go get you mics adjusted. I’ll take care of this.”

“Liam, we don’t have time for—”

“I got this,” Liam cuts off Zayn’s protest. “Go.”

Hesitantly, the three take off through the hallway. Liam, for his part, is far from gentle in pushing Niall back into the dressing room and following. He locks the door behind him, knowing he’ll have to channel Louis’ methods if he wants to make this quick for Niall. He has no idea why Niall’s back to this condition so soon after just two days— _and without them even being on stage at all since_ —but now’s not the time for questions.

“On your knees,” he commands, pushing Niall down by the shoulder without waiting for him to obey on his own. Before Niall can even lift his fingers to Liam’s belt, Liam’s got the zipper down and his cock free. Niall licks his lips and surges forward, capturing the head between his lips.

“Eager little slut,” Liam mutters, kind of loving this rare side of their relationship as he pushes on the back of Niall’s head to force him further onto his length. “There you go, watch the teeth.”

Niall’s throat— _nngh, sofuckingwet_ —is working, contracting around him, and Liam pushes him further while simultaneously jerking his hips to create the most delicious friction. When he feels his dick hit the back of that warm, inviting throat, he holds Niall firmly in place.

Niall jerks desperately, panicking slightly with the need to breathe. Liam feels his throat tighten around him, those blue eyes beginning to water, as Niall pushes frantically at Liam’s thighs. His grip on the blonde hair only tightens, holding him in place while thick trails of saliva dribble down Niall’s chin, down Liam’s dick.

The urgent noises Niall’s making send vibrations coiling through Liam’s body; he lets out a low moan and a gasp before finally yanking Niall back and off of his length. Niall immediately coughs and heaves a huge breath before coughing again. He wipes at his chin with the back of his hand and glances up into Liam’s face with wide, wet eyes, his face flushed with exertion. Then, slowly, still holding Liam’s predatory gaze, his fingers curl around strong thighs and he drops his jaw in invitation.

“ _Fuck,_ Ni. Okay, relax.”

His hands wrap around Niall, one at the crook of his neck and the other at the back of his head to hold him still. And then Liam rocks his hips forward without further warning. Niall breathes heavily through his nose and tries to drop his jaw completely, lapping his tongue in a pitiful attempt to keep up with the Liam’s thrusts. Liam’s grunts and moans grow in volume as his hips pick up in pace, while muffled choking sounds tumble from Niall’s abused mouth, more saliva trailing down his chin.

He feels so… _’used’_ isn’t a strong enough word. (He loves it.)

Niall’s quite sure his lips might bruise from the brutal thrusts; he can feel Liam’s cock hitting the back of his throat again and again, but he’s certainly enjoying it and Liam doesn’t relent. He wonders idly what the boys’ll say when they see—or if they’ll say anything at all.

It’s not long before Liam’s hips begin to falter, quick, jerky little wavers, and he tugs Niall’s head back by the hair.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, voice shaky. Niall’s quick to comply and Liam rests the tip of his cock on Niall’s tongue. With a quick squeeze, Liam lifts his hand from Niall’s neck to his length.

After a few rapid strokes, Liam seizes up, gasping on a long, drawn-out groan, and comes in hot spurts onto Niall’s tongue and lips. Niall keeps his eyes steady on Liam’s face, scrunched in pleasure, while humming encouragingly.

Finally, Liam rolls his head down to meet the blue stare, giving a low, breathy command.

_“Swallow it all.”_

Niall curls his tongue back obediently, licking his lips and swallowing all of the cum he finds there appreciatively as well. A satiated smirk lifts his lips as he stands, pressing his chest to Liam’s and giving him a slow, lazy kiss.

“God, Liam. That was hot.”

Liam stares at him, surprise evident in his eyes as Niall’s lips twisted in an easy, carefree grin.

“But… but you—and I…how are you—?” Liam sputters, baffled by Niall’s sudden coherency.

Niall’s grin widens and he shrugs his shoulders. “I lied. I love that side of you, you know,” he purrs against Liam’s lips.

And with that, he bounds from the room, leaving Liam staring stupidly after him, his cock hanging from his pants.

 _Fuck,_ he’s going to get that little leprechaun back for making him go on stage like this.


End file.
